(no subject)
I spill my heart to those who will listen. Those who will keep my heart locked in their minds. Those who can get me in serious situations. Those who never care. Those who's faces will wrinkle with concern, and sympathetically say their apologizes, and press their bodies to mine in a hug in hopes to crush the troubles between their arms and hearts.
No one grabs me like you do, however.
Little indie poems and little acoustic sounds smooth the worry lines from my forehead. The weather is perfect for those flawless enough to realize it. Those who don't, see it as a sarcastic slap on the cheek.
Winter will be back tomorrow, precious. Don't you worry.
I'm growing older, and certainly not gracefully. I'm frightened.
"Won't you take a step back?" he asked.
but Baby, I'm not getting any younger.
No one grabs me like you do, however.
Little indie poems and little acoustic sounds smooth the worry lines from my forehead. The weather is perfect for those flawless enough to realize it. Those who don't, see it as a sarcastic slap on the cheek.
Winter will be back tomorrow, precious. Don't you worry.
I'm growing older, and certainly not gracefully. I'm frightened.
"Won't you take a step back?" he asked.
but Baby, I'm not getting any younger.